"He really was a kind person."
Pandora's voice drifted through the silent forest like a gentle breeze, soft and almost wistful. She stood among the carnage, the afternoon sun filtering through the canopy above to paint dappled shadows across the blood-soaked ground.
The memories she'd taken from the dying Uchiha ninja played through her mind like a film reel—every thought, every fear, every desperate hope. They were hers now, absorbed into her consciousness as easily as breathing. His life, his loves, his paranoia about the village leadership, the growing tensions within his clan—all of it belonged to her.
"So much pain," she mused, tilting her head as she studied the bodies. "So much fear. And yet, even at the end, he was thinking of his family. How... touching."
Three of the fallen ninja were missing their eyes now. The Sharingan had been carefully extracted, the red orbs with their distinctive tomoe patterns placed in a small sealed pouch at Pandora's waist. Their bodies were embedded in the massive tree trunks, impaled by their own weapons in their final moments of madness. The deaths had been gruesome, violent, desperate.
And Pandora had watched it all with the mild interest of someone observing an ant farm.
She brushed a strand of white hair from her face and turned away from the scene, leaving behind only deathly silence and the bodies that would eventually be found. The forest seemed to hold its breath as she passed, as if nature itself recognized the wrongness of her presence.
According to those final memories, Pandora thought, sorting through the stolen knowledge as she walked, the Uchiha clan is on the brink of rebellion. How convenient. The village leadership suspects them. The Uchiha suspect the village. Everyone suspects everyone. It's practically a powder keg waiting for someone to light the fuse.
A smile curved her lips. Perfect timing, then.
The village sentries never saw her coming. Pandora's ability to manipulate perception—to simply make people's awareness slide away from her like water off glass—made infiltration almost laughably easy. She passed within feet of a Chunin guard post, close enough to hear their casual conversation about lunch plans, and they never so much as glanced in her direction.
Their chakra senses registered nothing. Their eyes saw nothing. To them, the Witch of Vanity simply didn't exist.
How fragile, she thought. How wonderfully, terribly fragile.
Konoha spread out before her as she crested a small hill—a sprawling village of red-tiled roofs and winding streets, training grounds and monuments. People moved through the streets below, living their ordinary lives. Ninja trained. Merchants hawked their wares. Children played and laughed.
None of them knew that something ancient and predatory had just walked through their gates.
"Itachi! Wait!"
Izumi's voice cut through the evening air, sharp with frustration and something deeper—something that tasted like desperation. She'd been chasing him from the Uchiha compound for nearly ten minutes now, following his dark-haired figure through the village streets and down toward the riverside.
And he hadn't looked back once.
Why won't you just talk to me?
Uchiha Itachi walked with his usual purposeful stride, his ANBU training evident in every efficient movement. His shoulders were tense beneath his civilian clothes, his posture rigid. To anyone watching, he might have looked calm, composed.
Izumi knew better. She'd grown up with him. She'd trained with him. She'd loved him since they were children.
And right now, she could see the weight crushing him even from behind.
"Itachi!" She pushed harder, her legs burning as she closed the distance. "Are you going to do that person's bidding again?"
That got a reaction—the slightest hitch in his step, barely perceptible. But he still didn't turn around.
Damn it, Itachi.
They ran along the riverside path now, the Naka River flowing lazily beside them. The evening sun painted everything in shades of gold and amber. It should have been beautiful. Instead, it felt like a funeral.
Itachi wanted to avoid her questions. She could read that much in the set of his shoulders, the way he deliberately didn't look back. He carried something heavy—she could see it in every line of his body. Some burden that he refused to share, some secret that was eating him alive from the inside.
And it was driving her crazy.
Talk to me. Please, just talk to me.
In her single-minded focus on catching up to him, Izumi almost didn't notice when she passed someone else on the path. A flash of white in her peripheral vision—snow-colored hair, pale skin that seemed to glow in the fading light.
A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of flowers and something else. Something that made the hair on the back of Izumi's neck stand up for just a moment before her attention snapped back to Itachi.
Behind her, Pandora stopped walking.
The Witch of Vanity turned slowly, her silver eyes fixing on Izumi's retreating form. The stolen memories from the dead Uchiha had told her many things about this village, about the tensions simmering beneath the surface. But more than that, they'd given her something precious: an understanding of hatred.
And this girl practically reeked of the potential for it.
"Ara~" Pandora's lips curved into a smile. "What do we have here?"
She could see it—the desperation in how the girl chased that boy. The anguish in her movements. The way love and fear and frustration all tangled together inside her heart like poisonous vines.
"Quite the fine specimen," Pandora murmured to herself, her voice carrying that same playful lilt. "She has such wonderful potential to fall into depravity. How... delicious."
Her gaze remained locked on Izumi's profile even as the two Uchiha continued down the path. The girl had no idea she was being watched. No idea that something from the abyss itself had just marked her as interesting.
No idea how quickly her world was about to change.
"Izumi."
Itachi finally stopped, his voice cutting through the sound of rushing water and evening crickets. He stood at the river's edge now, his back still to her, his hands clenched at his sides.
"I know what I'm doing. Please don't ask any more questions."
Izumi skidded to a halt a few feet behind him, breathing hard. Her chest heaved from the chase, but it wasn't exhaustion that made her heart pound. It was the coldness in his voice. The distance. The wall he'd built between them that seemed to grow higher every day.
"The clan leader is worried about you," she said, forcing the words out past the tightness in her throat. "Your father is worried. I'm worried, Itachi. Ever since Shisui's accident, you haven't been right."
Accident. That's what everyone called it. But Izumi had her doubts. Shisui had been Itachi's best friend, his closest confidant. And then one day he'd thrown himself off a cliff, supposedly driven to suicide by the mounting pressure and suspicion surrounding the Uchiha clan.
But Itachi had changed after that day. Something in him had broken, or hardened, or both. He'd started taking missions from someone—she didn't know who, but she could guess. The Hokage? ANBU command? Someone in the village leadership who wanted eyes on the Uchiha clan.
And every mission pulled him further away from his own people. Further away from her.
"I'm fine," Itachi said flatly.
Two words. That was all he'd give her.
Fine. He was fine.
"You're not fine!" The words burst out of her before she could stop them. "You barely sleep anymore. You barely talk to anyone in the clan. You disappear for days at a time and come back looking like—"
She cut herself off, biting her lip hard enough to hurt. Looking like death. That's what she wanted to say. Looking like he was being torn apart from the inside.
But she couldn't say that. Couldn't make him face it. Because if she did, he might shatter completely.
Itachi's shoulders tensed even more, if that was possible. Then, without another word, without even a glance back, he vanished.
Not walked away. Not ran. Vanished.
A Body Flicker technique executed with such speed and precision that he might as well have never been there at all. One moment he stood at the river's edge. The next, only empty air remained.
Izumi stared at the spot where he'd been, her hands trembling at her sides. Her fingernails dug into her palms hard enough to leave crescents in the skin.
Damn it. Damn it, Itachi.
She'd known him since they were children. Had trained with him, fought beside him, dreamed about a future where they might be together. And now...
Now it felt like she was losing him. Like he was slipping through her fingers no matter how hard she tried to hold on. The boy she'd loved was disappearing piece by piece, replaced by someone cold and distant and broken.
Her vision blurred. She bit her lip harder, refusing to let the tears fall. Uchiha didn't cry. Especially not in public. Especially not over—
Over what? Over a boy who won't even look at you anymore?
A strange sense of loneliness welled up inside her, deeper and more painful than anything she'd felt before. It wasn't just losing Itachi. It was watching him walk away from everything—from the clan, from their shared history, from her—and not being able to do anything about it.
Not being able to save him from whatever was eating him alive.
"Your expression looks quite troubled."
The voice came from directly behind her—soft, melodious, intimate. Like someone whispering a secret directly into her soul.
Izumi spun around, her hand already reaching for the kunai pouch at her hip. Her Sharingan activated on pure instinct, the three tomoe spinning into existence as her eyes changed from brown to crimson.
A girl stood there. White hair that fell to her waist like fresh snow. Silver eyes that caught the dying light. Pale skin that seemed almost translucent. A black dress that looked like it belonged in some European fairy tale rather than a ninja village.
And Izumi hadn't sensed her approach at all.
How—
"Who are you?" The question came out sharper than intended, edged with suspicion and residual frustration from the confrontation with Itachi.
The girl smiled. It was a gentle expression, almost childlike in its innocence. But something about it made Izumi's instincts scream danger.
"Me?" The girl tilted her head, white hair cascading over one shoulder. "My name is Pandora. I'm a traveler from outside the village. The wind blowing past you carries the scent of sadness."
Izumi's eyes narrowed. With her Sharingan active, she should be able to read this girl's chakra, see through any deception. But there was... nothing. No malicious intent. No hostile chakra. Just a strange girl with strange clothes saying strange things.
And yet, something felt deeply, fundamentally wrong.
"I..." Izumi hesitated, unsure why she felt compelled to respond. "I don't know how to reconcile the conflict between my clan and him."
Wait. Why did I say that?
She hadn't meant to answer. Hadn't meant to share anything with this stranger. But the words had spilled out of her as naturally as breathing, pulled from some place deep inside her chest where the hurt lived.
"What are your feelings for him?" Pandora took a step closer, her voice dropping to something softer, more intimate. "Hope? Unwillingness? Sympathy? Or... love?"
"Love?" Izumi's breath caught. The word hung in the air between them like a confession. "Yes. Maybe I do love Itachi."
Stop talking. Why are you still talking?
But she couldn't stop. The words kept coming, pulled from her by that voice, by those silver eyes that seemed to see straight through her defenses.
"Is it because you see the person you love going in the opposite direction?" Pandora asked gently, taking another step forward. "Is that what brings you this sadness?"
"Yes."
No. Stop. Something's wrong.
The conversation was being led entirely by this strange girl—Pandora. Every question she asked seemed to reach deeper inside Izumi's chest, pulling out truths she'd barely admitted to herself. It felt like an interrogation, like someone was peeling back the layers of her soul to examine what lay beneath.
And Izumi couldn't resist. Didn't want to resist. Each answer felt like a release, like finally being able to voice all the pain and confusion that had been building inside her for months.
But that wasn't right. That wasn't natural.
"Are you..." Izumi's Sharingan spun faster, trying to analyze what was happening. "Are you using genjutsu on me?"
Too late. The realization came far too late.
Even as the words left her mouth, she could feel it—the subtle manipulation wrapped around her consciousness. Not a traditional genjutsu that her Sharingan could dispel. This was something else. Something that operated on a level her bloodline limit couldn't touch.
This girl's voice. Her words. Her very presence. They were all part of it, all working together to pull Izumi deeper into something she couldn't escape.
"That's right," Pandora said, her smile never wavering. She leaned in close, close enough that Izumi could feel her breath against her ear. Close enough that the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, everything else fading into insignificance. "It's the highest level of genjutsu. One that makes you fall into love."
Her voice was like honey and poison mixed together, sweet and deadly. Each word sank deeper into Izumi's mind, wrapping around her thoughts, her feelings, her very sense of self.
"I..." Izumi tried to fight it, tried to activate her Sharingan's ability to break genjutsu. But this wasn't targeting her eyes or her chakra pathways. This was targeting something more fundamental. "I love Itachi."
The words came out like a prayer. Like a curse. Like the single most important truth in the entire world.
Pandora's smile widened, and in her silver eyes, something ancient and terrible gleamed with satisfaction.
"Yes," she whispered, her Authority sinking its claws deep into Izumi's heart. "You do."
The sun had fully set by the time Izumi walked away from the riverside, her steps mechanical, her Sharingan still active but unseeing. The crimson eyes that should have protected her from illusions now reflected only the moon above.
Behind her, Pandora watched the girl go with a satisfied expression.
"How wonderful," the Witch of Vanity murmured to herself. "Love and hatred, so beautifully intertwined. She'll make an excellent first disciple for the Witch Cult."
She turned to gaze at the Uchiha compound in the distance, where lights were beginning to appear in windows as families settled in for the evening. Where tensions simmered and rebellion brewed and everyone was too focused on their own conflicts to notice the predator in their midst.
"The Will wanted me to corrupt this world," Pandora said softly, her voice carrying a note of genuine amusement. "How generous of these people to make it so easy."
She began walking toward the compound, her white hair luminous in the moonlight, her footsteps silent as a ghost.
The Witch of Vanity had found her first piece in this game. And the board was set for something far darker than simple rebellion.
After all, nothing bred depravity quite like love twisted into something monstrous.
And Pandora was very, very good at twisting things.
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